


Obsession

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Series: Creepy Pinto AUs [3]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Dark, M/M, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:59:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stalker fic.<br/><em>And now we’re together, he’s lying on the bed and watches me. I had to tie him to the headboard because he wouldn’t listen to me, tried to get away. He doesn’t understand, yet, he doesn’t know we belong together. I’ll show him, I’ll explain it and make him see.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> One of three fics I wrote for the Christmas Exchange at ontd_pinto on LJ. The prompt was "creepy atmospheric Pinto AU".  
> (The others are "Ghosts of the Past" and "What we see")
> 
> **Please heed these warnings: dark, angsty and violent. And character death. Please don't read if you don't like. Also, stalker warning.**

When I saw the poster, I thought he was pretty. Two men, standing close together, he and the other one, both looking gorgeous and handsome, strong and regal, two heroes. But he, he… his eyes, and his mouth, his face… so pretty. I liked the poster, I bought one, I went to see the movie, I enjoyed it, enjoyed watching him. I bought a copy of the DVD when it came out, I watched it a lot. He’s pretty.

When I saw the interview, I thought he was smart. Smart and nice, friendly and witty and funny, all smiles and laughter, easy going, handsome and sweet and nice. I looked for it on youtube and saved it in my favorites, I watched it a hundred times, he’s pretty and smart.

When I met him at the diner, I thought he was nice. He smiled at me, didn’t mock me for my stammering and blushing, wrote an autograph with my name and “best wishes” and “thanks” on it, touched my shoulder and smiled. His eyes looked at me, his hand touched me, my fingers slipped against his when he passed me the autograph, he was right there in front of me, close to me, with me, he talked to me and smiled at me. When I met him at the diner, I thought he was nice, and I fell in love.

It feels good, this love, it fills me completely, it is like fire burning through my veins, it warms me, makes me feel alive. My love for him soothes me when the night is dark, makes me happy even when my boss yells at me, warms me when the landlord turns off the heat again. I watch his movies, his interviews, I collect every article the mags print about him, I read them over and over again, I laugh at his jokes, am impressed by his intelligence and humor. I look at his pictures, hear his voice, I imagine him there, with me, on the couch, talking and laughing, I imagine our future together and my love for him burns bright. It feels good, but it’s not enough.

At first, I only watch him. I follow him on his morning runs, I watch as he goes for groceries and buy the exact same brands, feeling exhilaration because we share food now in a way, I am closer to him. I wait outside the studio to catch a glimpse of him when he leaves in the evening, I follow him to restaurants and parties and theatre plays, I watch him enter and leave, hidden in the shadows, almost close enough to touch. I see him laugh with his friends, with the other, I see him smile and hear him talk, and I imagine he talks to me, smiles at me. But soon, seeing him is not enough anymore.

I need to be closer to him, I need to see him, talk to him, touch him, know that he returns my love, know that he’s mine.

One day I watch him curse, he forgot his key, I see him digging around in the small flower bed, he finds something and unlocks his door. I watch the lights turn on, creep closer to look inside, watch him prepare dinner and settle on the couch with a movie, I edge around the house to see what movie it is, and plan to stop by the store later to pick up a copy. I watch him on the couch, see him yawn and sink lower in the pillows, I see how his eyes blink shut and he falls asleep. I wish I could be there inside with him, his head on my lap, my fingers in his hair, and I watch him sleep and I want.

I wait until the next day, after he’s left, I dig in the flower bed, my pulse fast and hard in my throat, I find the key. I look around, no one is there, I hurry off and find a key shop. I put the key back where I found it, go to the studio to wait for when he finishes shooting, the copy I made a heavy, exciting weight in my pocket. I see him, I try to talk to him, but he doesn’t see me as he leaves with the other. They smile at each other and I feel jealous.

The next day, after he has left, I enter his house. My heart is pounding, cold sweat stands on my forehead, I shake and shiver as I creep inside. I touch his books, thumb through a few of them, he’s smart, so smart, all these books. I look inside his fridge, I like that he eats healthy, I smell his shampoo and his bodywash, I stand in his shower for a bit, here where he’s naked. I wander to his bedroom, blushing heavily. I inspect his wardrobe, try on a few of his shirts, they don’t fit me, but they look good on him. I lie down on his bed, inhale his scent, bury my face in his pillows and smile. He was here earlier, and now I am, so close, I can smell him. Soon, soon we’ll be together.

I leave the house again, taking care to put everything back to where it was, I know that he likes it tidy. I smooth the bed sheets, fluff the pillows, dispose of the peel of the banana I ate and close a window he’s left open. I take a souvenir, only a small one, one of his college shirts. It’s big and loose on my small frame, I will wear it later, tonight, when I fall asleep, surrounded by his smell.

I visit his house again, several times after that, wash his dishes for him, tidy up his living room or make his bed. I sometimes put flowers on his table, to surprise him when he comes home. At first he doesn’t realize I send him the flowers, I see him smile and call the other, and I seethe and grind my teeth when I watch them together. Finally he realizes, though, and I am giddy with the thought that he now knows they come from me. I still watch him, follow him, see him talk to the police and his agent. The police start watching his house, someone changes the locks on his door, they are trying to keep me from him. They don’t succeed, they never will, I always find a way inside. There is a small window at the back of the house, its catch broken, it’s narrow but I fit inside. I walk through his house, unseen by the patrol car, they’ll never keep us apart. I’m always there, close to him.

And I watch him when the other comes over, when they curl around each other on the couch, when they make dinner and banter and argue, but then I have to leave, because the other upsets me. I don’t like him, I never did, I don’t know why he wants the other around so much, he doesn’t belong there, with him, I do. Only I. Sometimes the other even stays for breakfast, and on those days I don’t bring flowers for him, I wash the other’s smell from his sheets and scrub the bathroom until it’s clean again.

Then, one evening, I look through the window of the bedroom, and I see them. I see them, I can hear them faintly through the glass, and I get angry. They are kissing and moaning, they twist around each other like snakes, and the other holds him down, hands around his thin wrists, and he’s whimpering and moaning, face grimacing in pain as the other moves his hips. He’s hurting him, I can see it, I hear the moans and the screams, I see how the other thrusts again and again, and he is twisting, straining, groaning, and I am angry, so angry.

The other doesn’t belong here, not here, not in our bed with him, curled around him, he’s not allowed to kiss him or touch him, he’s not allowed to make breakfast and bring it back into the bedroom, he’s not allowed to see him wake up and smile, he’s not allowed… and I stand in the shadows, I watch them and I’m angry, I’m seething and furious, my hands hurt where the nails have bitten into the skin, and then I’m running, running away.

I have a plan.

And now we’re together, he’s lying on the bed and watches me. I had to tie him to the headboard because he wouldn’t listen to me, tried to get away. He doesn’t understand, yet, he doesn’t know we belong together. I’ll show him, I’ll explain it and make him see, and he will understand, he will smile at me and hug me when he realizes he’s mine. He’s mine and I am his. The other moans where he’s lying at my feet, his head is bleeding and I smile at my love on the bed. He’s shaking his head, tries to say something through the gag, but I shush him and pet his hair. He will see, he will understand. I pick up the knife from the side table, walk to where the other is lying, and my love watches us now, as I put the blade against the other’s throat. Soon, my love will see, my love will understand. We belong together, he and I, the other is an obstacle that has to be removed, that keeps us apart. But not anymore, and I slice the blade through flesh and bone, feel the warm blood splatter over my fingers. Now, the other is gone, now, we’re alone, he and I. I stand again, walk over to my love, and smile at him.

Now we’re together.

  
The end...


End file.
